"The fact is," said Apache Kid, "we are what they call in this country
road-agents--make our living by holding up stage-coaches and----"
"By gum! we 've held up more nor stage-coaches," cried Donoghue, and
began fumbling in an inner pocket with eager fingers.
"And banks," said Apache Kid, gazing on me to see the effect of this
disclosure.
Donoghue stretched across to me, his loose face gleaming with a kind of
joy.
"Read that," he said. "Read what that says;" and he handed me a long
newspaper cutting.
What I read on the cutting was:
"Daring Hold-Up of the Transcontinental.
The Two-some Gang again at Work."
"That's us," said Donoghue, gloating. "It reads pretty good, but Apache
here says there ain't no sense in the headin' about the two-some
gang--says them journalist boys is no good. Seems to me a right slick
notice--that's us, anyway."
Apache Kid seemed disturbed, annoyed.
"Well! what do you think?" he said, fixing me with his eye.
"I 'm sorry," said I.
Donoghue threw back his head and laughed.
"It's not the right sort of way to live?" said Apache Kid,
questioningly. "You know I can make out a fine case in its defence."
"Yes," I replied. "I have no doubt you could, and that's just what
makes me all the more sorry to think of your doing this. Still, I feel
that you having told me prevents me stating an opinion."
"If someone else had told----" he began.
"Then I might speak," said I.
"Should it not be the other way about?" he asked, half smiling.
"Perhaps it should," said I. "But if you honour me by telling me, it is
enough for me just to say I am sorry. Would you have me preach?"
He looked on me with great friendliness.
"I understand the sentiment," said he. "But I should like you to
preach, if you wish."
"Well," said I, "I have no doubt you could, with the brains you have and
your turn for sophistry, make out a very entertaining defence for such a
life. 'Murder as a fine art,' you know----"
"Murder?" asked Donoghue; but Apache Kid silenced him with a gesture,
and I continued:
"But neither you nor those who heard your defence could treat it
otherwise than as a piece of airy and misplaced, misdirected wit, on a
par with your misplaced love of adventure."
He nodded at that part, and his face cleared a little.
"That but makes me all the more sorry," said I, "to know you are----" I
paused. "A parasite!"